


you're losing your memory

by wordonawing



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Memory Loss, Old Age, Older Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 17:29:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/677008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordonawing/pseuds/wordonawing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late in the summer of his eighty-eighth year, Erik begins to lose his memory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're losing your memory

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the song of the same name by Ryan Star. (there's a pattern emerging here, isn't there?)
> 
> Shameless plagiarism vis-a-vis the first two lines. To be fair, John Green is my spirit animal.

Late in the summer of his eighty-eighth year, Erik begins to lose his memory.

It happens sort of like falling asleep; slowly at first, and then all at once. It starts with forgetting where he's put his mug of tea. He doesn't realise that this is the beginning of it – practically everyone does it, Sean more than most. But then it begins to happen more and more, several times a day. The others help, reminding him where the objects he seeks are (thank God for Hank's edietic memory), but he can see the worry in their faces, the slight tinge of fear staining their eyes. It isn't until he gets Alex's name wrong one morning that they insist he goes to the doctor. Well, he says insist. It's more like a gentle nudge: "Why don't you ask Dr Jenkins about you forgetting things? Just so we know it's nothing to worry about." (They do worry, anyway; sometimes he thinks that's all they do.) He goes, very reluctantly, and she _does_ say it's nothing to worry about. Oh, how wrong can supposedly clever people be. This is why he does not trust doctors. That, and the Shaw thing.

The all-at-once part happens in mid-October, when the lawns in front of the mansion are carpeted with a thick layer of coppery leaves. This is the time when Erik forgets Charles.

Truth be told, this happens slowly as well, but it feels quick, like someone just sucks all his memories out of his head with a giant vacuum cleaner, leaving a hole in his life, an area of nothingness where Charles used to be. He forgets his face, his hair, the bright blue of his eyes. He forgets all his different expressions: the little dent between his eyebrows when he was puzzled, the tweak of his lips when he was amused, the way his eyes sparkled when he smiled. He forgets the little things, like how he curled up like a cat and rested his head on Erik's shoulder when they were watching a film, and how he rubbed his eyes like a child when he woke up. He forgets the big things, like how he said those three words for the first time. He forgets the times when he was working at his desk and Erik came up behind him and somehow managed to maneuver them so Charles was sitting on Erik's lap, and then Charles would look up and get the fright of his life because he was so focused on his work that he hadn't noticed. He forgets the way he used to fall asleep on the sofa, and the way he wriggled for a moment, yawned widely, and then settled comfortably in Erik's arms when he went to pick him up. He forgets how his voice sounded when he read aloud, low and soothing and beautifully quiet. He forgets how he looked when he was dying.

Charles died in the middle of his life, as some people do, at the age of thirty-nine. The disease that invaded his body had none of the compassion he himself felt for others; it rampaged through his blood cells, destroying everything in its path. Erik sat by his bedside and watched as he died, slowly losing every little bit of hope that had somehow clung on in the dusty corners of his mind when they got the diagnosis. Charles, however, never lost his boundless enthusiasm, even when he was very sick – he would ask Erik how the kids were getting on, if the teachers he'd picked were settling in okay, whether there were any problems with mutations. He must've been in a lot of pain (Erik _knows_ , he could feel it spreading like a stain through the room), but he didn't show it. Right before he died, he grabbed Erik's hand tight and told him to tell the others that he loved them. Then those brilliant blue eyes closed, as if in sleep, for the last time.

For a while after Erik forgets Charles, he retains one memory of him, in a way. It's not really a particular event, more a sort of feeling, of _lovewarmthbelonging_ , that always lingers in the back of his mind, and makes him feel happy, though he can't remember why. He goes for a walk along the beach one day, relieved to be out of the school, which for all its huge rooms and grand halls feels very crowded. Raven was a little dubious as to whether to let him go, which is understandable, seeing as it is the middle of December and the beach is astronomically cold in the winter. As he walks, the feeling becomes stronger, so much so that he can almost hear a voice in the back of his mind, and see a vague outline of someone walking in the sand beside him. But then it is gone, and the gap it leaves behind seems more awful than it did before.

There are times when he'll see something that will remind him, and he'll think _he would've explained that better – that kid laughs kind of like him – what was that joke he told me one time?_ But he can't remember who the _he_ is. He's subconsciously trying to see him, to feel him, to hear his voice when he is no longer there.

But he is everywhere, of that Erik is certain; in the library, with the books nestled up together and the dust-worn chess board; in the classrooms, with the kids chattering away excitedly about their mutations; in their bedroom, with the pillow that still smells faintly of him; in the garden, with the leaf-laden trees dancing gently in the wind. In every kind thing anyone ever says, every compassionate action Erik ever witnesses. When Charles died, he dissipated into everything like dustmotes floating in a beam of light, spreading quietly into every little nook and cranny of Erik's world. He is never really gone; he's just moved into a waiting area, watching patiently for Erik's mistakes and smoothing them over.

Charles was the most beautiful thing that ever was.

And that which is truly beautiful retains its beauty forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, twelve-year-old me is awful. Don't read it.


End file.
